


All of You, All of Me

by andIwillwrite500more (prototyping)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Genderbending, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Romance, genderbend dimileth, i am always a slut for more dimitri insecurity, male byleth is very soft and you can't change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/andIwillwrite500more
Summary: “Well—as you know, my Crest makes certain actions… difficult. Dangerous, even.”Or, genderbend Dimileth navigating the complications of the Blaiddyd bloodline.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 21
Kudos: 89





	All of You, All of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the kinkmeme prompt “Female!Dimitri/whoever, crest strength making sex complicated.”
> 
> Y’all I spent like an hour thinking about the dynamics and trying to decide who I would ship female!Dimitri with, only to cop out in the end with “screw it, I’ll die on my Dimileth hill” so here we are back on my usual agenda

“How do you feel?”

The question stirs Demeter from her half-doze and she shifts a little, too comfortable between the fur blankets and her husband’s warm chest to lift her head. “Mm, wonderful,” she mutters, and his gentle laugh stirs her hair and makes her stomach flutter.

She’s a little sore, truthfully, but it’s hardly worth noting. She’s slept the worst of it off already. “And you?”

Byleth’s hands slip beneath the blankets to rub her bare back. The weight of his arms is indescribably comforting and her grip around him carefully tightens. “Honestly? Cold,” he muses. “I think I’ll need some time to adjust to the climate.”

With a stiff groan Demeter pushes herself up, straddling his waist and letting the blankets fall back from her shoulders. She can’t help flushing slightly when his eyes are drawn to her chest, even now. “I was referring to, ah…” Her slender fingers graze cautiously down his side, indicating the grey-yellow bruises below his ribs, along his hips. She’s sure she left some on his back and shoulders, as well, and it’s likely only thanks to the healing properties of Byleth’s Crest that they don't look worse. Demeter frowns, the familiar burn of guilt beginning to simmer in her chest, but Byleth catches her hand and laces their fingers.

“I’m pretty sure I returned the favor.” His free hand caresses her thigh. “You just don’t bruise as easily.” His knowing smile is contagious; she shakes her head with a quiet chuckle.

“But you’re truly alright?”

He brings her hand to his mouth and dusts a kiss across her knuckles. “Wonderful,” he echoes, and that’s enough for her. Demeter runs her hand thoughtfully over his skin.

“You do feel cold,” she notes with a tilt of her head. She catches his eye but quickly looks away again, smiling shyly. She’s not quite so bold as to voice her thought—that there’s an easy way to help him warm up—or at least not yet. Last night was only their first night together, after all; a lot of walls came down and the two of them learned a lot, exchanged a lot, but that sort of intimacy seems to build upon itself in stages.

Or perhaps she’ll just always be this modest.

Either way, Byleth clearly doesn’t mind. He lets his touch make the suggestion for her, a gentle tug urging her forward and down and into a kiss. It’s slow, lazy, as if they have all day—which they do, really. The Kingdom will be in good hands while they enjoy their honeymoon for the next few days, away from the rest of the world and all the responsibilities that await the Queen and the Archbishop.

Demeter relaxes as their kiss deepens, a couple light moans escaping her when their tongues brush. She’s just started to feel that rush of warmth between her hips when Byleth pulls away just slightly.

“Demeter?”

She hums curiously, loving that breathlessness in his voice. “Yes, beloved?”

His fingers tenderly, almost thoughtfully massage the back of her neck. “Were you satisfied last night?”

She stills.

His bluntness isn’t surprising—nor his perceptiveness—but she doesn’t like where this is going.

“Satisfied?” she repeats, and the attempt at cluelessness falls flat even in her own ears. “Of course. What do you mean?”

Byleth cranes his neck to look at her—at the left side of her face, wisely, to look into her good eye. “I just didn’t think you…” He searches for the right word. “Finished. Was everything okay?”

Demeter chews the inside of her cheek, staring at his nose rather than meeting his eyes. “Demeter?” he prods gently.

“You were fine,” she assures him, and then amends quickly, “ _More_ than fine, that is. I, ah… enjoyed everything.”

He watches her expectantly, patiently, as if sensing the unspoken _but_. After a moment more Demeter withdraws, sliding off of him to sit on her knees beside him.

She’s known this talk was inevitable, but part of her hoped to delay it for at least a little while. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have underestimated his knack for noticing details, or how well he knows her.

“I mean it, Byleth—you did nothing wrong at all.” She rubs her arm absently, self-consciously. “I was just… uncertain about…” Demeter frowns, cursing her lack of preparation on the topic. “Well—as you know, my Crest makes certain actions… difficult. Dangerous, even.”

Byleth pushes himself up to join her. He doesn’t say anything, just gives her his undivided attention.

She draws in a breath, stalling. It suddenly seems like a silly concern, even though she’s sure it isn’t. “I’m concerned that if I were to, ah… _finish_ , while you were…” Her cheeks are beginning to itch with another blush. Breathing in again, she pushes out with a sigh, “I’m afraid of hurting you.”

When he only stares at her, she looks away again and runs her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. _Goddess_ , why is this so difficult to say?

“I’m worried about my body—harming you. While you’re inside me.”

“...Ah.” Byleth’s stare finally relents as he glances at the far wall in thought. “I think I see.” He turns to her again. “Do you think that’s possible? Have you tried before?”

“Not—Ah—Not with anyone else, no.” She traces a crease in the sheets with a finger. “I’ve… tested it. Myself.” It shouldn’t be embarrassing to admit, at least not to him, but she feels her face burning with shame—and realizing it only makes it burn hotter. “But, um—my fingers are smaller than your... than you would be. And you’re right that I don’t bruise easily, maybe because of my Crest, too—” She realizes she’s rambling and sighs sharply. “It didn’t hurt, but… I’ve heard it can be more… intense when it’s with another person, so…”

It’s not as though it’s a common problem, either. In the Kingdom’s long history, she’s the only woman to have been chosen as the Blaiddyd heir, although the title would doubtlessly have fallen to a younger Crest-bearing brother if she had one. It isn’t unheard of for women to inherit the Crest, but the records say nothing of them other than their existence, and certainly don’t go into any detail on their difficulties bearing children.

In the corner of her eye Byleth is still, simply watching her with that calm but attentive stare. Demeter finally shakes her head with a flustered smile and touches his cheek with conscious care. “It’s alright, beloved, truly. I would change nothing about last night. You were…” Her gaze lowers shyly. “Very pleasing.”

He covers her hand with his own, rubbing her skin affectionately—and paired with his warm smile it’s enough to make her heart beat faster, both in her chest and between her legs. “As were you.” He kisses her palm, the rough pad of her thumb, and her anxiety starts to ebb away like melting ice. After becoming so familiar with Byleth’s brutality on the battlefield, she still marvels at how soft and gentle his touch can be when he wills it. She envies him in that regard, even if she’s come a long way herself in minding her strength.

Byleth cups the back of her head in his hand, tilting her mouth up to meet his. Demeter leans into his shoulder and does so eagerly, relieved that he didn’t take offense or feel belittled by her concern.

It’s an unfortunate situation, to be sure, but easily avoidable as far as she’s concerned. She knows what an impending orgasm feels like, so as long as she doesn’t get too much stimulation, there shouldn’t be any risk. Having him inside her, _moving_ , so full and solid, was certainly a lot of sensation to process—but she ignored the longing ache that demanded more to feel complete, that urged her to touch and help herself along, and after Byleth reached his limit she deemed the act over, then and there.

It was still wonderful and intimate. It was still making love to the man she adores more than anyone else. That, she’s convinced, is all that matters.

Demeter realizes she’s started to shift in place, rubbing her thighs together for some friction as heat pools eagerly between them. As if on cue, Byleth helps her recline down into the pillows and leans over her. His weight adds depth to the kiss and Demeter winds her arms around his neck, humming appreciatively.

When his hand dips between her legs, a bolt of pleasure courses through her and she breaks off with a gasp—but he catches her mouth again just as quickly, meeting her moan-for-moan as he rubs two fingers along her wet center. Soon it’s his whole palm, cradling her and pressing, stroking, until she starts thrusting tentatively against his hand.

“A-Ah—beloved—” she stutters, and has to make an effort not to dig her short nails into where she’s grasping his shoulders.

“Just my hand,” he breathes against her ear. It’s commanding and reassuring all at once and Demeter shivers, the pressure in her building at the mere sound of his low voice. She can’t help retreating into her complete faith in him, trusting him to take care of them both.

She relaxes, giving his shoulders the lightest of squeezes.

Just like last night, he’s attentive, experimenting carefully and curiously with touches, with speed and pressures. He’s quick to note her reactions. His thumb works her clit with gentle swirls, mindful of applying too much force; another finger circles the rim of where she’s wettest, and at her desperate request he pushes it into her, and then another. He keeps his questions simple— _Do you like that? Should I go faster?_ —and interprets Demeter’s moans and whines with no issue.

She’s startled by how quickly she approaches the edge. The handful of times she tried touching herself, it was trial and error figuring out what got her there and she wasn’t always successful. When she did manage, the buildup took so long that the brief payoff hardly felt worth the time invested.

Now she finds herself moving with him as her body continues to tense, hips jerking eagerly, greedily as she chases her release. The tease of being _so close, not close enough_ chokes soft, half-smothered cries out of her as each thrust of his fingers and swipe of his thumb isn’t _quite_ what she needs. She buries her hands in his hair and pulls him to her, a bit too much force making the kiss sting—but she chases that, too, only daring to tug and nip at his lip until he bites back, her encouraging moans quickly coaxing him into biting harder.

Her previous orgasms were a release of sorts, a feeling of relief after mounting frustration—but this one feels like a beginning rather than an end as every nerve in her body seems to snap, shuddering and carrying a hot wave of pleasure from the top of her head down to her toes, once, twice, again, once more, until her heaving breaths match the pace and she’s pleasantly lightheaded. Byleth’s hand goes still as she closes around his fingers, adding some pleasant relief to her bliss when it doesn’t feel too tight and he doesn’t withdraw in pain.

All too soon the spasms weaken and she comes back down to earth, but it’s a good place to be: Byleth is still with her, patiently nuzzling her cheek despite the heated desire in his gaze. Demeter eases up her grip on his hair and falls back into her pillow, taking a couple deep breaths. When she looks up at him again, she notices blood smeared on his lips and winces.

“I’m sorry, beloved.” She guides him down to her and brushes her mouth over his, as light as she can make it, her tongue running over it to clean up the mess. “I was rough.”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, deep and husky and _lovely_. He kisses her, open-mouthed, and as he settles on top of her she notices that he’s fully hard. It presses between her legs and she winces again, uncertain if the sensation is more pleasant or uncomfortable to her overstimulated sex.

Byleth doesn’t rush. He kisses her, touches her, and with the last of her climax’s echo still buzzing in her skin Demeter muses that something like _this_ could be enough—it’s still an exchange, still intimate, even if it’s not the most intimate it could be. It’s perfect nonetheless in her eyes.

After a few minutes, Byleth starts rocking against her a little more noticeably. He breaks his slow kisses from her mouth to tend to her neck, punctuating every so often with a small love bite that makes her inhale sharply.

“Do you think you’re ready?” His voice is a little gruff, a little tight.

Demeter smiles as she hums, dragging her fingertips lightly over his back. “I am. I’m still a little… Mm… I’ll tell you if I get too close to…”

Byleth draws back to look at her, and she catches something searching and considerate in his gaze. He cups her face in one hand and kisses her again, tenderly this time.

“I want to try, Demeter.”

She tenses, her satisfied daze hardening into unease. “Byleth, I…”

He kisses the tip of her nose. “I know you’re strong,” he whispers, and kisses her cheek. “Every bit of you.” Her forehead. “You’re so strong.” Her scarred eyelid, carefully. “It’s amazing.”

She flushes deeply at the praise, her heart skipping a beat and her body growing warm again. His compliments have always made her feel a certain way, even the most innocent and casual ones— _Your tactics report was impressive, Your stance is good_ —but this is something else. Hearing him commend and even admire something she’s always disliked about herself—a quality all but _wasted_ on a female heir, who should be graceful and feminine even as a soldier, not brutish and boasting the strength of ten men; the gossip is always the same—it stirs something inside her, some deep hope of recognition that she buried long ago.

Her breath catches, her chest suddenly heavy with emotion. She almost misses what he says next.

“You’re so strong,” he murmurs against her temple, “but you’re so soft, too.” His cock grinds _gently_ against her. She gasps as her body throbs in response, aching to be filled. “You won’t hurt me, my love.”

Demeter bites her lip. She wants to believe it, to trust in her husband’s silky voice and strong body, but—

_But—_

He returns to her mouth. “Trust me,” he breathes into her. “I won’t let that happen.”

It’s the same calm, unshakable resolve he’s always shown, both on the battlefield and off—as if he knows something she doesn’t, as if there’s no such thing as _chance_ as long as he’s there.

She meets his eyes, composed and confident compared to her own uncertain and fearful.

She _does_ trust him.

Unconditionally.

Slowly, slightly, and hesitantly, she nods.

Byleth assumes nothing: he takes things as slow as they did the night before, bringing her to the same desperate degree of arousal as himself with skillful touches and kisses. He runs his hands and eyes over her hungrily, appreciatively, as though her body isn’t marred by countless shadows of old wounds. He fondles and kisses her breasts, fingers and tongue tracing the scars there; he caresses and gropes her thighs, following the long cut from her hip to the inside of her leg as if it guides him to her center, where he strokes and teases her until she’s wet and almost writhing.

“Beloved,” she whines, “please…”

Taking him is easier this time, the motion now familiar but just as breathtaking as the first. He lifts her hips as he pushes into her, further and further until the two of them are flush and joined as closely as they’ll ever be. His eyes are on her face the whole time, watching her lips twist around his name and part for air when she gasps, and his grip on her thighs starts to tighten.

He really paid attention before, it seems: his thrusts start slow, but soon build up to the pace that Demeter liked best. As she finds a position and a grip that let her move in time with him, Byleth’s hands relent and busy themselves elsewhere: one holding himself up, the other reaching down between their bodies to touch and pleasure her.

His attention to detail is both impressive and maddening. Between his fingers on her clit and his cock sliding in and out of her, his low voice groaning more words of praise for how good she feels, how beautiful she is, Demeter seems to reach her peak in no time at all—and unlike before she can’t tell when she’s going to go over, because what was once an instant of heart-racing, pre-orgasm tension is now lasting longer, longer, until her jaw hurts from clenching and she’s pressed fresh bruises into Byleth’s sides. She pries her hands from his arms, wary of dislocating them in the heat of the moment, and clutches at her pillow instead.

Without warning her climax crashes into her, _hard_ —enough for her body to seize up, for her to shout, for her vision to flicker and the pillow to tear in her fists. She feels Byleth jolt as she tightens around him—it’s so much firmer, so much _better_ than his fingers—but with the ringing in her ears and stars clouding her sight she can only fear the worst.

He jerks again on the second clench, the third, a strangled moan finally reaching her ears—and on the fourth his hips buck and he spills into her, hissing her name in the most desperate and beautiful way she’s ever heard. Her vision clears in time to see his face—his bright eyes narrowed and clouded, lips slick with sweat as he pants and groans, his strong shoulders twitching in time with her muscles.

He kisses her suddenly, deep and eager as though it’s been years rather than moments. Demeter arches up to meet him as relief floods her veins, hugging him as tightly as she dares, and he does the same until they’re a tangle of hard panting and messy kisses and whispered nothings.

Gradually, they wind down as their bodies relax, until only their hands are moving as they massage one another’s shoulders and sides. Despite his positive response and the satisfied calm that’s settled over them, when Byleth sits up to pull out of her, Demeter glances anxiously over his soft length. It looks fine as far as she can tell, but maybe that’s already his Crest at work, as well. She’s not sure if it will bruise, or if it even _can_ bruise, but at least it’s still _there_.

Byleth notices her stare. “You’re still worried?”

Demeter shakes her head, but inquires all the same, “Are you alright? Really?”

With an affirmative hum and another heartwarming smile, Byleth lies on top of her—giving her his full weight this time, which she cradles easily—and relaxes in the crook of her neck. There’s nothing short of full trust in the gesture, in the vulnerability of it, and it makes her breath hitch.

“I like how strong you are,” Byleth assures her. “It’s a good thing.” The playful praise makes her smile contentedly.

She always imagined intimacy as a much more awkward affair, with some noble chosen for her—assuming she lived that long—who would believe the rumors and fear her touch and only come near her as necessary. Never did she imagine anyone trusting her so much and wanting, _welcoming_ all of her, with so much loving patience and willingness to comfort her insecurities, to teach her gentler ways, to learn and encourage what _she_ wants.

Byleth did as much for her long before now, from small and simple gestures at the academy to refusing to leave her side one dark and rainy night. Those memories were already good ones, but now their weight is especially warm and pleasant as they settle snug on her heart, much like the ring on her hand.

Demeter wraps her arms around him and tangles her legs with his, holding him close. For the first time in so long there’s no prickle of uncertainty, no weight of self-doubt, no fear of herself. There’s just the two of them, and that’s worth so much more.

**Author's Note:**

> me: -pledges loyalty to Faerghus in every playthrough-
> 
> also me: how can I make Faerghus sound even worse? ah yes sexism
> 
> Also, I highly recommend checking out the prequel fic (linked below) written by Maruya! It's a great look at Demeter's character that still scratches the Dimileth itch. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [All Your Curves (And All Your Edges)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219481) by [maruya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maruya/pseuds/maruya)




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